


one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

by Anonymous



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Men's Hockey RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: F/M, Hockey Player Scott Moir, Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics, ice dancer tessa virtue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I’ll see you around, Tessa Virtue,” he says turning to face her, a bright smile on his face.“I’ll see you around, Scott Moir,” she says with a small wave as he closes the door behind him.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 49
Kudos: 98
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

He wakes up to the sadly very familiar pounding headache, the dreaded mouth dryness, and the general confusion he’s so used to experience after a night of drinking and partying. He blinks once, twice, three times. _Gosh, he needs to get glasses_. It takes him a few long seconds to realise where he is.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, looking at the brunette sleeping next to him, her naked back pressed to his side. 

Both of their gold medals rest on the bedside table next to her uncomfortably small single bed, and a tangled pile of red, white, and black clothes is scattered messily on the floor, around the room. He smiles thinking about the events of the previous night.

_Tessa. Fucking. Virtue_. 

Probably the most elusive athlete of Team Canada, always busy with press engagements, or going to PT, or being dragged away to God knows where by her annoying skating partner… 

The better half of _Canada’s sweethearts,_ portrayed by the media as a sweet, innocent, timid, porcelain princess. Yeah, _right_. After last night he’s pretty sure there’s an elaborate PR scheme behind the perfect built public image of the woman lying next to him because he just _knows_ there is nothing timid or innocent about her. The way she had kissed him back -- all tongue and fervor, and impatient hands surely leaving nail marks down his back; the way she had fucked him… Passionate? Fiery? Sure. But definitely nothing sweet about that. 

He feels her stir and slowly turning around to face him, a small frown on her beautiful freckled face. He gives her a shy smile as she opens her eyes and groans, possibly feeling as nauseous as he does, if not more.

“Good morning,” he grins, his fingers playing with her hair.

She groans again, and he chuckles. She’s obviously not a morning person.

“Fuck,” she says looking around her messy room, then at him, then at the small digital clock on her nightstand. “What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Hey!” he exclaims with an overdramatic tone, feigning hurt.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she apologises half-heartedly. “It’s just… this is not usually my style.”

He smirks. 

“What happens in the village, stays in the village, right?” he says softly running his thumb on her collarbone and letting his hand traveling lower on her body.

She inhales sharply as his fingers find her nipple and pinch it, and he lets out a sigh as she runs her hands through his soft dark hair and bits his lip playfully.

“As tempting as this is,” she says, a little breathless, “I’ve got to shower, finish packing, and get ready, and... not to be a bad host, but you’ve got to go. If I know my partner — _and I do know him_ , I’d say he's gonna walk through that door in about 15 minutes carrying a coffee, a banana, and some Advil.”

He pouts, making her laugh.

“You’re no fun, Tessa Virtue,” he says shaking his head and getting out of bed.

He can feel her eyes on his naked body as he looks for his boxers and the rest of his clothes.

“See something you like?” he says turning around to look at her.

She scans his body with a smirk and then holds his gaze, no embarrassment whatsoever showing in her features. His breath catches in his throat. She looks so sexy sitting on her bed, naked, with a fire in her eyes that just draws him to her. 

He had known as soon as he’d seen her again after so many years, during the opening ceremony, that he wanted to get reacquainted with her; to really get to know the woman she had become. He had gone to her free dance performance with a few of his teammates, cringing at their typical bro comments along the lines of “one of us has to bone that Tessa Virtue before the games are over,” and had stood in awe as she had taken the ice with her partner and skated for gold with so much grace and determination. He didn’t know much about figure skating (not anymore, at least), but he knew that watching her skate had been the closest thing to perfection he had ever witnessed. 

He had spent the following six days trying to track her down, asking teammates, friends of friends, girlfriends of friends, long lost acquaintances from elementary school… He knew she had attended his gold medal game with the other figure skaters but it hadn’t been until later that night, after the closing ceremony, and after a crazy party at Canada House that had involved one too many shots and not nearly enough food, that he had finally found her, in the small alley between the Canadian and the Australian dorm buildings, holding on to a guy. He had sighed at the sight, defeated, but then she had called him over.

“Hey, you!”

He had turned around.

“Lil’ help here?”

He had crossed the street a little puzzled.

“I found him sitting on the curb two blocks away, and I was trying to drag him back to the dorms. I don’t think Gary Bettman would be too happy to see photos of his star player shitfaced on tomorrow’s newspaper,” she had explained to him as he watched her with curiosity. “I mean, especially not with an Olympic gold medal around his neck and fully clothed in Canada gear. A real PR nightmare.”

He had been a little amused by how alcohol slightly coated her voice, and even after her little rant he couldn’t help but giving her the same confused look he’d given her as he first approached her.

She had rolled her eyes in exasperation, and only then had grabbed the hair on top of the half-unconscious guy she was clumsily trying to hold up, to reveal his face.

He had gasped. Then smiled. Then laughed. Hard. She had joined him, letting go of his drunk teammate who had unceremoniously fallen to the ground, and just sat there, probably asleep at that point, in the middle of the deserted road, at 3 in the morning, in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

“Sidney Crosby can’t hold his liquor,” she had whispered in his ear. 

The warmth of her breath (that smelled like mulled wine and cinnamon) in such proximity to his neck had made him slightly dizzy.

“Why do you think we call him Sid the kid?” he had laughed, trying to act as casual as possible.

“Can you… Can you help me get him to the dorms?”

The task of walking Sidney back to his bedroom had been harder than expected, and it was only natural that after completing it they had decided to reward themselves with a nice bottle of red wine. She had got it from a French fan (who had waited for her for hours in the cold after the gala, apparently) and was safely keeping it in her suitcase. Upstairs. On the 8th floor. In her bedroom. That she didn’t share with anybody. 

It had happened exactly like he imagined it would. They had drunk, they had talked, they had laughed, they had fucked. And he really thought that was all he was after. He could have left, right as she had fallen asleep, her head resting next to his, her hand warm on his chest, and it could have been just one of the (many) one night stands that he would have then bragged about in the locker room with his teammates. Except he had not left. He had stayed, and watched her sleep for at least two good hours, before surrendering to his own exhaustion.

“So..?” she says as she puts on her t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, interrupting his reminiscing.

“I better go, then,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his Canada sweatshirt, and uses his hands to adjust his messy, sex hair. “This was fun.”

“It was,” she replies holding out her hand for him to shake.

He ignores her invitation, squeezing her in a warm hug instead. He grabs his medal from her nigh stand, opens the door of the small room, and steps into the hallway.

“I’ll see you around, Tessa Virtue,” he says turning to face her, a bright smile on his face.

“I’ll see you around, Scott Moir,” she says with a small wave as he closes the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy about the positive response the first chapter of this fic got! I wasn't expecting so many people in the fandom to still be active on here. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter updates; I will try to post every few days.

She’s completely exhausted by the end of March as she lands in Detroit with one more gold medal around her neck and a darker shade of grey under her eyes. She somehow still manages to drag herself on shaky, cramping legs from the plane, all the way through customs, and finally to her place in Canton.

Her skating partner is a constant presence by her side, patiently holding her up even when she insists she’s fine yet stumbles ungracefully while getting out of the black sedan Skate Canada has sent over to pick them up from the airport, under the intent look of the chauffeur, and carrying her four heavy suitcases through the main door, up to the second floor of her two-story house on the outskirts of the small suburban town.

She heads straight for the shower and isn’t surprised, when she gets back to the living room wearing nothing but a long sweatshirt that hits her mid-thighs and her hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel, to see a cup of scalding hot tea waiting for her on the coffee table, and her partner sitting on her couch, his face unreadable as he looks at his phone.

“Marina wants to see us for breakfast at the place by the rink, tomorrow morning. She wants to discuss plans for next season, apparently” he announces as she sits down next to him and he places her legs on his lap to massage her calves.

“You’re too nice to me,” she gratefully says through a yawn, shaking her head. “I feel at least four decades older than I am… Taking care of a fossil isn’t exactly what you signed up for,” she frowns.

He chuckles continuing to apply gentle pressure on her overworked muscles.

“Is this really how it’s going to be from now on?” she asks poking him between his ribs with her toes. “Me being a miserable, cranky old lady, and you having to moonlight as a PT?”

“Tess,” he sighs running his thumbs across the fading scars from her first surgery, “there are other options.”

“Like what,” she scoffs, readjusting the pillow behind her.

“Well,” he starts, “the doctor mentioned a second surgery, and if you don’t want to go through with it, we can re-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” she interrupts him. “You know that is not an option I am willing to consider. Not now. Not yet.”

“We’re Olympic Champions AND world champions. Those are the highest achievements we can really reach in our sport,” he says, his eyes earnest and kind.

She looks away, towards the window, suddenly feeling angry at the man she’s known for most of her life. There’s unshoveled snow on her driveway; she knows that if she’d just ask, he’d already been out there cleaning it up. He hates him for it; for being so complacent, and understanding. She flinches as she tries to swiftly remove her legs from her partner’s lap, and tuck them under herself.

“Listen, I’m tired right now, and I don’t really feel like talk about all that…” she says awkwardly looking down at the off-white carpet of her living room. “We’ll have to discuss our options with Marina tomorrow morning anyway.”

“I’ll let you rest, then,” he sighs. He stands up then, and heads towards the door, defeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She just nods as he closes the door behind him, then covers her face with a pillow, and screams. Once she's calmed down a little, she finishes her tea in two long gulps. She no longer feels tired, a mixture of sadness, and anger taking over. There’s only one way she knows how to deal with those feelings; skating.

She finds herself skating by herself at the rink, the kind janitor giving her a quiet nod as she gets into the semi-deserted arena, emptied of most of the professional skaters, and only scarcely filled with a few juniors working on new choreos.

Her legs burn as she takes the ice, but the feeling is so familiar it’s almost welcome. She skates in circles, finding her edges, flinching every time she pushes forward. A slow clap coming from the edge of the rink distracts her, making her almost lose her footing.

“Nice crossovers,” the man says as she approaches him with a furrowed eyebrows and a pained expression.

She stops right in front of him, briefly considering pinching herself just to make sure she isn’t imaging this.

“Are you stalking me, Scott Moir?” she questions him, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

He chuckles, and she can swear he blushes slightly as he shakes his head, his soft dark hair following the movement in a way that mesmerised her.

“You wish,” he smirks.

“How did you find me, then?” she asks with raised eyebrows.

“You know, Tessa Virtue, you’re not as elusive as you think you are,” he replies taking a step closer to the boards. “A quick google search of ‘Tessa Virtue home rink’ gave you away pretty quickly.”

“And why would you be googling that?” she enquires, a small smile playing her lips.

“See, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to explain to all my young and not-so-young fans who want to try on my Olympic medal why I would ever be awarded one in ice dancing,” he explains fishing a gold medal out of his pocket and dangling it before her eyes.

“Wait, what?” she shakes her head in confusion.

“You know, I seem to have grabbed the wrong medal after our little... huh —“ he gets closer to her looking around dramatically, his voice dropping to a whisper “rendezvous?”

“That’s not possible,” she says reaching for the medal to examine it. “I’ve worn my medal to media events, I would have noticed, and — oh...”

She runs a finger on the engraving on the back of the medal that unmistakably spells ice dance. Scott grins as if he’s won something, and she can’t help the smile that forms on her lips in response to his.

“Do you want... do you want to skate?” she asks him, a little out of the blue.

She can hear him gulp, and immediately regrets asking.

“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” she apologises shaking her head.

“No... I — I’d like to. But I’m injured. I pulled a muscle in training, and I’m still waiting to know if I’ll be able to play tomorrow afternoon or not, so maybe I shouldn’t push it,” he says grabbing her by the wrist to prevent her from skating away.

“Oh yeah, right. You’re playing the Red Wings tomorrow,” she nods. “My next question was gonna be what you were doing in this neck of the woods.”

He examines the other skaters currently in the rink and cocks his head to the right.

“Where’s the skating partner? Are you going solo?” he smirks.

She rolls her eyes and slips her wrist out of his gentle hold.

“I’m not training; season’s over,” she replies with a shrug. “Just felt like clearing my mind, and well, it’s Friday night. It was either here or the pub, and I seem to have lost my fake ID, so…”

“So I take you to have no plans?” he grins.

“Well, I need to head home, and…”

“Perfect,” he interrupts her. “So we can finally get this medal thing sorted out, and maybe I can cook you a nice homemade meal?”

She looks at him suspiciously but then gives him a small nod.

“Wait for me in the hall. I’ll be there in 10,” she says skating away.

She takes her skates off quickly, and laces up her trainers, flinching as she stands up on her feet, her legs cramping with every step she takes. She bites the insides of her cheeks, and takes a deep breath, faking a neutral expression as she approaches Scott by the entrance.

“How did you get here?” she asks, sneaking up on him.

“I contemplated hitchhiking, but ended up opting for a taxi,” he says, following her into the parking lot, to her car.

“Good call,” she laughs, placing her skating bag in the trunk, surprised when she finally walks to the driver’s side and sees Scott opening the door for her.

She can’t hide a smile as he closes the door behind her after she’s sat down and is buckling her seatbelt.

“I think we’ll need to make a pit stop at a grocery store if you were serious about that home-cooked meal,” she tells him as soon as he settles on the passenger seat. “I don’t think I have any edible food at home.”

He gives her a questioning look that she deliberately ignores, driving out of the arena’s parking lot, towards the town center.

“Do you like living here?” he inquires as they drive by rows of houses that look alike, and endless car dealerships selling the exact same cars at the exact same prices.

“It’s okay,” she shrugs. “I don’t go out much, and it’s only two hours away from London, which is convenient, I guess. Do you like living in Chicago?”

“I love it,” he replies quickly. “It’s such a fun city and the fans are awesome. You should come to visit sometime.”

She’s taken aback by his words. Everything about her life seems to have slowly stopped making sense over the past few months, so maybe letting in this boy with big earnest eyes, floppy dark hair, and a contagious smile maybe wouldn’t be the worst thing she could do.

“Maybe I will,” she says with a shrug, and even though her eyes are on the road, she could swear she _hears_ him smile.

She waits in the car while he buys everything he’s planning on making for dinner at the grocery store after triple-checking she has no food allergies, and as she sees him walking back towards her car carrying four full bags of food, she wonders if this is what having a boyfriend must feel like. She quickly shakes that idea away, and by the time she parks in front of her house, after 10 long minutes of Scott loudly singing off tune to every song passing on the radio, that thought is long forgotten.

She watches him move around her kitchen like he’s done that for years. He chops onions, sautées vegetables, marinates the chicken, and smokes everything with a glass of white wine. Everything smells and looks delicious, and for one blissful hour, she almost forgets that her legs are giving up on her and that she’s supposed to be reflecting on what she’ll be doing after those summer tours she and her skating partner have agreed on months ago.

She catches him looking at her with curiosity while dipping a breadstick in the wine sauce.

“You seem preoccupied,” he observes.

She sighs, taking a small sip of wine.

“It’s nothing,” she says forcing a small smile past her lips. “Just thinking about everything I need to get done before heading to Japan.”

“Oh...” he seems surprised. “When are you going?”

“In a few days,” she replies. “It will just be a week or so. Then we’re heading straight back to Canada for our cross country tour.”

“Busy summer, huh?” he smirks standing up and gathering the empty dishes.

“Oh, don’t,” she stops him. “I’ll clean up.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” he reassures her placing a hand on hers. “You look tired.”

“Jeez, thanks,” she says rolling her eyes. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

She sits on the couch and turns the TV on as he loads the dishwasher quickly — much more quickly than she would have managed, and once he’s done, joins her in the adjacent living room.

“Jeopardy? Really?” he chuckles noticing what’s playing on TV.

“Shut up,” she says playfully punching him on the arm and then snuggling closer to him.

He smiles, an arm sneaking up around her shoulders.

“Are you going back to Canada this summer?” he asks, turning to face her.

“I think so, yeah... maybe for a bit,” she says. “Why?”

She can see a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he turns back to face the TV.

“I don’t know,” he says with a casual tone. “I was thinking that maybe we could catch up. Go to the lake or play golf or something...”

“Or something sounds good,” she says, her hand reaching up to play with his hair.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he grins, grabbing her wrist. “Is Tessa Virtue making a move on me?”

“You’re insufferable!” she laughs, as he cups her face with one hand. “So what if I am?”

She captures his lips slowly, so lightly it makes her heart flutter. He kisses her back right away, running his hands through her hair, bringing her closer.

Whereas in Vancouver everything had been frenzied and heated and alcohol-fueled, the way they’re kissing each other now is slow, sure, and sensual; nothing like the boys she’s kissed before.

She suddenly feels like a real grown-up, sitting up to straddle him, and slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. She moans as his lips find just the right spot on her neck, right before he takes off her sweatshirt, leaving her only in her sports bra. She bites on his lower lip feeling him through her leggings and his jeans and pressing down to find some friction.

It hits her like a cold shower when he takes her by the shoulders, pushing her off.

She knows he can read the horror on her face as he tries to mutter an explanation, and she wishes her legs wouldn’t hurt as much as they do so she could just run upstairs and wait for him to leave.

“Tess, Tessa,” he says cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Let me explain.”

“It’s okay,” she scoffs, feigning indifference. “I misread the situation. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make it awkward for you.”

“What?! No! No, just,” he takes a deep breath trying to compose himself. “I want this. God, I want this so much. I honestly wasn’t expecting this to happen when I came here, so it didn’t seem necessary to tell you...”

“Tell me what?” she asks, doing her best not to roll her eyes at him.

“I strained my groin — that’s my injury, the one I told you about earlier,” he says in one breath. “I have a groin strain.”

“Oh...” her mouth opens, but she doesn’t quite know how to react.

“I — I didn’t think this,” he says gesturing between them, “was gonna happen when I came here. Honestly, I’m surprised I even found you at all. I thought — I thought that if I saw you we would have just swapped medals and I would have asked you for your number and maybe asked you out once hockey season’s over...”

“Are you... are you serious?” she asks, her brows furrowed, “you have a groin strain?”

He nods, covering his face with his hands.

“Fuck, this is officially the most inconvenient injury I’ve ever had,” he says shaking his head. “And I’m counting the broken foot I had during last year’s playoff run.”

Her face relaxes, and she chuckles at his dramatic antics.

“Scott,” she says bringing a hand under his chin and softly running a thumb on his jawline. “Do you want my phone number?”

“Yes, please,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Tell you what,” she adds, “you keep my medal. We’ll swap those next time we see each other.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees, sealing the deal with a kiss.


End file.
